Dragonvein Book Five

by Brian D. Anderson

  He concentrated on stilling his desires. The distance was too great to retain perception throughout it all. The quiet and loneliness invariably laid siege to his sanity after only a few short years. He pleaded with his vessel for help. In response, it tightened its hold and condensed his being into a mere speck. This hurt, but the pain was overcoming his desire. Pain had a way of bringing things into focus. He had learned that lesson all too well.

  As the light of the stars dimmed, he withdrew into himself. Only one face still peeked into his consciousness. The face of his creator – his father. That sad, pathetic frown, made even more vile by the tears spilling down his cheeks. He hoped that somehow the man still lived so that he could have the pleasure of crushing his flesh to pulp. He yearned to hear his agonized screams as he slowly plucked each limb from his body.

  Shinzan allowed this thought to lull him into a dreamlike state. The vessel would wake him when the time came. Until then, he would hover on the edge of oblivion, dormant and waiting.

  * * * * *

  The desert sands were scorching the soles of his feet, though he was easily able to set aside the pain. The cruel star that illuminated this dried up and barren part of his new world was sending waves of heat that threatened to blister his body quite severely. But it wasn’t the damage to this frail form that concerned him; it was the screams inside his mind demanding that he leave. Where did they come from? Though in reality he knew the answer to this, he was finding it almost impossible to comprehend. He had encountered races who were able to communicate through thought alone several times before. But these demands were not coming from any of those who dwelt here. They were coming from the heart of the planet itself.

  It recognized him for the threat he was, and was duly afraid. But how could this be possible? The idea of a celestial body having any kind of consciousness was unfathomable. He had seen many strange and mysterious things during his travels, but never anything remotely resembling this. This planet was actually alive.

  Even more peculiar was the effect its energy had on the beings who lived upon it. Some of them could use it to manipulate their environment. Magic, they called it. Others used it to create tools and weapons of war. And then there were the elves. They were the first race he had encountered here. Their connection to this planet was unique. But possessing them had proved problematic in the extreme. The humans were far easier to dominate.

  He held out his palm, bringing a tiny ball of blue flame blinking into existence. He stared at it for several moments, fascinated, like a child gazing at a shiny new trinket. A sharp chill then shot through his chest and down his spine. The flame immediately grew to the size of a fist. He could feel his own essence mingling with the energy now flowing through him, making him stronger with every second that passed. Magic. Yes. This was the very thing he had scoured the deep recesses of the cosmos to find, though he had not known it at the time.

  Once he had consumed all there was, he would be more than strong enough for his purpose. He was certain of it. Until then, however, he must be cautious. The beings on this world were unlike the others. Though they possessed only primitive technology, their use of magic could make them quite formidable. Possibly even dangerous enough to destroy him.

  He would approach this conquest differently. He would wait and observe. He would learn their customs. Only when he was ready would he strike. Then, at long last, he would be able to fulfill his greatest desire.

  The hate within him swelled like a rising tide. He looked down at the body he had chosen as the repository for his essence. He would need to make it stronger. Its limbs were weak and stiff, making movement difficult. Old. Too old. If he could not overcome these shortcomings, then he would have to find someone younger and stronger. Perhaps one of the short, stout bodies of the race who dwelt inside the mountains.

  He had time to decide. Closing his eyes, he focused on the planet’s energy. After only a few seconds, a fresh breeze blew across the sands, cooling his blistering skin. A first step. And a wonderful way to pass the time. It would take hundreds of years to absorb the power of this world. It did not yield readily. That was to be expected, he supposed. It was sentient, after all.

  “But not for much longer,” he whispered.

  Just beyond the horizon was a small village. He would begin there. He would blend in while all the time forming his plan. Only when fully ready would he strike.

  Chapter One

  “Why are they attacking?”

  The youth, no more than fifteen years old, gripped his spear with trembling hands. The veteran to his right was giving him no comfort. In spite of the man’s grizzled appearance and broad shoulders, he seemed just as afraid as the rest of the villagers.

  “I don’t know, lad,” he admitted, in what was little more than a whisper. The long sword and shield he carried were worn and battered. He had been in Shinzan’s army until just a few weeks ago, spending the past twenty years putting down Ralmarian uprisings. “All I know is that they’ve burned three towns already, and we’re the next in line.”

  “Why’d you come back?”

  The vet bowed his head. He’d been considered an outcast for as long as he’d been a soldier. Unlike the others from the village, he had joined Shinzan’s army willingly. “Good question. I suppose I’d simply had enough.” He cast a quick look around. A few nearby were shooting him hateful stares. But most were too terrified to say anything much to him, or to speak of what was coming.

  “Did you really kill people for the Emperor?”

  The vet nodded. “Aye. I killed people. Scores of them. But no matter what others think, I only did what I thought I had to.”

  “Don’t listen to his lies, boy,” grumbled an old shopkeeper standing a few feet away. He was wearing a ragged leather breastplate and carried a rusted short blade. “He ran off to join the army the second he was old enough to leave.”

  The two men stared each other down. It was the shopkeeper’s eyes that finally gave way.

  “So why did you join?” the boy asked.

  “It’s a long story. And I don’t think we have the time for me to tell it now.”

  As if to illustrate his words, the pounding of thousands of iron shod boots drummed relentlessly in the distance. It was one of the few sounds the silent ones ever made. There would be no battle cries. Only the clashing of steel and the screams of the dying villagers.

  Why indeed had he come back? the veteran briefly wondered. That was a good question. After all, there was no hope. The ill-tempered shopkeeper was about as well-armed a fighter as could be seen. Most others were carrying farm implements or heavy tools, and only a handful wore anything thicker than a tunic to protect them from enemy steel. But the answer to his question really became quite obvious. He had simply come home to die.

  The army was approaching down the main road that ran directly into the center of town, though the forest on either side would obscure them from view until the vanguard was less than a mile away. The village had no wall, and there’d been no time to erect proper defenses. Not that this would have done anything more than delay their deaths by a few minutes at most.

  “How many are coming?” the boy asked.

  The veteran shrugged. “What difference does it make? More than we can handle.” He looked over to the lad and held his gaze for a long moment. “You should run.”

  This shook the boy’s resolve, and for a second he looked as if he might. But then he stiffened and jutted out his chin. “I’m no coward,” he stated.

  The veteran sniffed. “No? Well, let me tell you this. The wormy ground is stuffed with brave men. I put many of them there myself.”

  “I won’t abandon my home,” he shot back, fierce determination banishing the tremor in his voice.

  A sigh slipped from the old soldier’s mouth. “Yes. I suppose I can understand that. And it’s not as if running will do anything more than buy you a little time. These silent ones…they can’t be stopped.”

  The boots were now much cl
oser, and accompanied by the clanking of steel. The veteran considered that perhaps he shouldn’t have warned the villagers of the coming slaughter. They might have preferred a quick death to this. The waiting – the fearful anticipation – was what shattered men’s will the most, robbing them of their heart.

  The lad turned toward the avenue just as the first line of soldiers rounded the bend and came into view. Row upon row of long spears, their steel tips glistening in the morning sun, advanced at a relentless march. At the vanguard sat a horseman clad in resplendent silver armor and holding a curved blade in his right hand. His helm bore the red plumes of a commander, and the Imperial raven was splashed across his breastplate.

  That the hundred or so villagers didn’t flee at the very first sight was amazing. The veteran had seen men facing far less daunting enemies lose all courage. At that moment, thoughts of the wife and daughter he had left behind forced their way in. He had not told them anything of what he intended to do. They wouldn’t have understood. The Emperor had ordered the destruction of all villages along both sides of the Kytain/Ralmaria border. Some of the border towns had always been a little bit bothersome, as well as being sympathetic to their Ralmarian neighbors. Others had not shown any hint of rebellion at all. Not that this appeared to matter to Shinzan. Better to kill them all was obviously his solution.

  At least for now, his family should be safe, the veteran told himself. The capital was not a target of the Emperor’s wrath. King Jaxia had served faithfully from the moment he took the throne. But something told the old soldier that ultimately this would not save the monarch. There was an air of finality attached to all of this. The annihilation of the rebels was only the beginning.

  A middle-aged man with a round face and heavy frame stepped forward. The veteran recognized him as Milriam Barnard, the leader of the village council. With hands held aloft, he set off toward the enemy line. He would be the first to die.

  “What’s he doing?” asked the boy.

  “Trying to negotiate with demons,” the vet answered grimly.

  A flash of hope that the councilor might be able to talk them out of this dire situation sparked in the boy’s eyes. But the veteran knew better.

  The Imperial commander raised a hand, bringing the army to an abrupt halt. Cursing under his breath, the veteran raced forward until he was alongside Milriam.

  “You should just run.”

  Milriam sniffed. “You mean like you did?”

  “No. You should run much further than that.”

  The veteran could see the green eyes of the Imperial commander bearing down on them in a cold stare. Reaching into his shirt he retrieved his badge of rank, holding it aloft.

  The commander dismounted, a grin on his face. “Don’t tell me you are fighting with this rabble, lieutenant.”

  “No, commander. I had just arrived when I was told that a rebel force was moving to attack the village. But now that I see this is not the case –”

  “You’re a poor liar. But as I am in no mood to waste time slaughtering this pathetic lot, I’ll give you the opportunity to flee.”

  The veteran eyed him incredulously. “You will allow them to go unharmed?”

  The commander chuckled. “I will not lift a finger. Nor will any of my men.” He regarded the veteran closely. “Let me guess. This is your home village, and you have heard that we are destroying all the border towns. Well, your information is accurate. There have been far too many reports of treason along this way to ignore. Better to rid ourselves of the nuisance now. Don’t you agree?”

  Milriam stepped quickly forward to give a curt bow. “My Lord, we are loyal –”

  He never got to complete his sentence. The commander’s blade was a blur as he swung his arm. Before Milriam could even comprehend what was happening to him, cold, razor-sharp steel sliced completely through his neck and spine. For a moment, he did not move, instead standing there paralyzed like a macabre statue. Then his head rolled from his shoulders, landing with a clearly audible thud just to one side. Blood pulsed from his neck in great spurts, soaking the dirt road. Finally, his arms and legs jerked violently for several seconds before his decapitated body at last crumpled down onto the red stained earth.

  The effect of this brutal killing was immediate. Panic stricken murmurings amongst the villagers carried clearly to the veteran. He knew they were very close to making a wild but hopeless run for their lives. Clenching his jaw in an effort not to let his apprehension show, he bowed. “I will take my leave, commander.”

  The man waved a dismissive hand. “You do that.”

  While returning to the frightened gathering, the veteran braced himself. He didn’t believe for a moment that they would be allowed to leave in peace. With each step he took, he expected to feel a spear come thudding into his back. But it never came.

  “Why did he kill Milriam?” the young man demanded. Unlike most of the others, his face was a mask of fury. He was still ready to fight.

  “Because it amused him,” the old soldier replied flatly. Spreading his arms wide, he addressed the villagers. “Listen to me. We are being allowed to leave. Lay down your weapons and go west. If we stay here, they will kill us all.”

  His words drew a mixed reaction, mostly of terror, but with sprinklings of defiance. The only way was to lead by example. Pushing his way through the crowd so that he was in clear view of everyone, he tossed his sword to the ground and began walking west.

  The open surrender of the only true fighting man amongst them was all it took to shatter what remained of the villagers’ resolve. Gradually, they followed behind him, pausing only to instruct the few who had remained indoors – mostly women, children, and the elderly – to join them in their defeated march to what they prayed would be safety. The young man was the last to desert his home – even pausing long enough to give the Imperial army a lingering baleful stare before catching up with the others.

  Any trace of defiance or anger had vanished in all but a few. It is always easy to speak brave words, considered the veteran. But when you actually saw the swords, the spears, and the soldiers with deadly intent you were facing, courage could abandon even the staunchest heart. And these people were not warriors. These were simple folk.

  When he had first warned them of the danger approaching, he had advised them to flee. But they had ignored him – out of spite as much as anything else. A stupid reason to die. Their will was initially hardened by stories of the rebellion. That was his guess, anyway. Rumors of the mages’ return had reached every corner of Lumnia. And though Kytain had so far remained loyal, whispers of discontent could be heard in virtually every inn and tavern. Many had set out for Al’ Theona in order to join in the fight. Fools. They had no idea what they would be facing.

  The veteran listened carefully, trying to penetrate the scraping of boots and grumbles of discontent that grew with every step that took them further away from the army. As much as facing death could cow a man, the removal of it from sight also quickly allowed courage to return. There was no sound of stomping boots at their rear nor any other indication that the Imperial commander was going back on his word.

  He looked along the loose line of villagers. Perhaps this atoned for his past misdeeds? His eyes lingered briefly on the wife of the slain Milriam. Her arms were wrapped tightly across her chest, her eyes downcast. If this was the greatest sorrow that must be born from this situation, then it was a small price.

  The trees had been growing thinner on either side of the road for some time now, a result of over-logging and ill-thought replanting. But even this was thick and lush compared with the land they moved into when five miles west of town. Here nothing grew, and hadn’t for years. It was all due to ancient damage done during the rise of Shinzan. At least, that was what the veteran had been told as a child. It had always made him uneasy when crossing the twenty-mile stretch, and today was no exception.

  A stiff breeze punctuated the ominous mood into which he had been thrown. Winter had been unpredictab
le this year. One day snow would fall, and then the next it was as if spring were just around the corner. But this wind…it was bone-chilling.

  Ahead, the procession came to an abrupt halt. The veteran pushed his way to the front, a feeling of dread rushing through him. But on seeing what had startled them, he almost laughed out loud.

  A woman in a flowing blue dress, her shoulder-length, auburn hair blowing carelessly in the breeze, was standing dead center of the road, eyes closed. Her ivory hands were clasped at her waist as if in prayer.

  The veteran regarded her for a moment. “Are you all right, Miss?” he called.

  Her eyes opened…they were pitch black. The veteran’s hand instinctively jerked to where his blade should have been and he cursed its absence.

  “Who are you, witch?” he demanded. The young lad had moved up to join him, a small rock he had picked up held threateningly in his right hand.

  She gave no reply, though a tiny smirk crept up at the corners of her mouth. Her hands parted and spread wide. Almost instantly, a ball of black flames twenty feet in diameter erupted into existence above her head.

  “Run!” the veteran cried.

  The people needed no urging. They scattered in all directions, their terrified screams ringing loudly in the air. But there was nowhere for them to hide from what was about to happen. They were far beyond even the sparse cover offered by the trees behind them. There was nothing but a flat expanse of hard clay and gravel.

  With a loud hiss, dozens of tiny streams of black fire issued forth from the blazing ball, each one seeking out a villager with deadly accuracy before striking them squarely in the middle of their backs. The instant they were struck, each victim dropped to their knees, wailing in agony as their bodies were consumed in a vile inferno.

  The veteran charged forward. After only a few steps, he realized that the young lad was right on his heels. He wanted to stop and tell him to run, but that would have been useless. Besides, it was better to die facing your enemy head on. Even if you were without hope.